


your soul next to mine

by 28ghosts



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, M/M, daemons are a physical manifestation of the Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 13:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/28ghosts/pseuds/28ghosts
Summary: Chirrut has questions about daemons that no one can answer.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Geekygirl24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geekygirl24/gifts).



> Prompt was "A His Dark Materials fusion" -- links for pics of Baze and Chirrut's settled daemons in the end notes. <3

Baze had been at the School of the Whills for two years when he met Chirrut Imwe who, at the time, had only been there for one. He had been eating alone with Biala under the table, between his feet. She had been in the form of a spotted cat for a few days, long enough for other students to start asking if she’d settled. She hadn’t, though; Baze knew that, somehow.

He met Chirrut because Baze had chosen a table in a far corner of the dining hall, and Instructor Enkows had been guiding Chirrut at her elbow. Baze hadn’t known that, then. Baze had just seen Instructor Enkows gesture towards him, and then a boy he didn’t know was walking towards him, a little carefully.

(Later Baze would learn that Chirrut’s daemon had been in the form of a beetle, whispering instructions straight into his ear.)

“Are you Baze Malbus?” the strange boy asked.

“I am,” Baze had said. “My daemon is Biala.”

(Baze had always introduced Biala alongside himself. It made sense to him. Biala was a part of his soul, and she deserved introduction. It unnerved some people, the sorts of people whose daemons never spoke in public. Baze didn’t like those people.)

“Baze and Biala,” the stranger said. He grinned wide, though his wide brown eyes stayed strange and unfocused. “A pleasure to meet you. I am Chirrut Imwe, and this is Vero.”

Baze stared for a moment. He couldn’t see Chirrut’s daemon, and he wondered for a lurching moment if Chirrut was some sort of witch, his vulture daemon arcing in circles above them. He glanced up, even though he would see the familiar ceiling and dining hall and nothing else. Then, though, a flicker of movement, and a quick flash of light.

Chirrut looked expectant. Baze asked, “Is -- is Vero a firefly?”

“Well, don’t ask me,” Chirrut said. He grinned between phrases, flashing bright white teeth and pink gums. “I’m blind.”

There was a little blur of movement, and then there was a hummingbird circling Chirrut’s head, green and red. Then another flash, and Chirrut was suddenly cursing and shaking out his tunic; a green lizard scuttled out one sleeve and transformed, quick as lightning, into a hummingbird again.

Baze wasn’t sure what he expected next, but it wasn’t for Chirrut’s shoulders to start shaking in silent laughter as Vero settled again into some sort of bright yellow bird, perched on Chirrut’s shoulder. 

“Instructor Enkows hoped I would introduce myself seriously,” Chirrut said. “I’ll tell her this was all Vero’s fault!”

Instructor Enkows was getting food for Chirrut, who sometimes had trouble navigating the narrow spaces where students would line up with their trays. Chirrut told Baze about all this while swinging his legs under the table, chin propped in one hand. 

By the time Instructor Enkows arrived with a tray of food for Chirrut, Baze knew more about Chirrut than he did any other student at the School of the Whills. Chirrut had started going blind two years ago, his parents had begged the School to take him in as a scholarship student since they were farmers and couldn’t provide for (or use, Baze figured) a blind boy, and his favorite class was zama-shiwo.

Instructor Enkows asked Baze if he wouldn’t mind taking Chirrut to the library, after the lunch period was over. Her garter snake daemon curled around her wrist while she talked -- see, Chirrut had a meeting with the librarian to discuss his options for learning touch-writing, and since Baze was headed to the south wing for lectures after lunch period anyways, it would be convenient.

“Of course,” Baze said.

Instructor Enkows bowed and thanked him and left them.

Chirrut seemed sullen once Enkows left. He stabbed aimlessly at the food on his tray. Baze could just barely hear what must have been Vero, telling him what food he had and where.

“I like the librarians,” Baze said lamely. “Have you met them before?”

“If you don’t want to be stuck to me, I’ll tell Enkows that we fought,” Chirrut said. He stabbed something on his plate. “She’ll have you walking me around all the time if you don’t watch out.”

Baze felt Biala butt her head against his calf. “I don’t mind,” he said, surprising himself.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Baze said.

It was interesting, the way expressions flew across Chirrut’s face so quickly. Baze wondered if Chirrut was self-conscious of it, not being able to see others’ expressions but still displaying them himself, or if he didn’t care at all.

“Maybe I’ll tell her we fought anyways, if you’re not interesting enough,” Chirrut said.

Baze felt his lips pressing together in a suppressed smile. There was a flush creeping up Chirrut’s neck, obvious against the light gray of his first year robes. “Well, you might have to tell her that, then. I’m not very interesting.” 

Chirrut turned his head, staring nearly but not quite at Baze. He stabbed his fork in the air. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he said. “So, tell me about yourself.”

By the time he walked Chirrut to the library, Chirrut knew more about Baze than anyone else did in the galaxy. After that, Baze would pick up a meal tray for Chirrut instead of one of the instructors. It was easier, and he didn’t mind.

-

It was traditional, when students entered their third year, to move out of the communal dorms into smaller rooms with only one or two roommates. Baze had assumed he would be matched randomly with another boy or pair of boys from his year, or, if he was particularly lucky, he might be granted the privilege of living alone.

But, during the brief summer break, when most of the students -- Chirrut included -- went home to visit their families, Elder Typhe took him aside and asked, carefully, if Baze might be willing to live in a room with Chirrut instead of with one of the boys from his own year. Chirrut was finding it difficult to live in a communal dorm, Typhe said. Too many people, too much activity. 

Baze knew that, because he and Chirrut were friends, and Chirrut told him darkly about the boys who would rearrange his things and laugh at him having to ask Vero for help. Of course Baze said he didn’t mind.

-

Biala settled a month into Baze’s third year, after he and Chirrut had worked out the rhythm of living together. He had idly expected her to settle as a spotted cat or ferret -- those were her favorite forms, the ones he usually woke up to found her in.

Then one afternoon, after backing Chirrut up in a fight against three boys from Baze’s year, while they all waited in silence to be scolded by the Elders, Biala shifted and Baze just knew: she was a narrow ibex with horns that curved back towards her neck, stoic and proud and steady.

(It wasn’t a week later that Vero settled, and no one was surprised that he stayed as a yellow-crested, red-chested golden pheasant, with wide wings that flashed blue when he opened them. When they walked together, Vero would perch on Biala’s horns, only coming to Chirrut’s shoulder when Chirrut needed directions. Chirrut’s eyes had gone milky blue as the last of his sight slowly left him. He pretended it didn’t bother him, but sometimes he asked Baze what it looked like, if it had gotten more obvious.)

-

Baze was a diligent student, but it was Chirrut who asked the questions that made others uncomfortable. Chirrut took to meditation with nearly frightening ease, sinking into trances nearly as rapidly as the Elders. Chirrut who meditated with Vero cradled in his hands.

Chirrut who, sprawled out under a tree during mid-day break, asked, “What do you think it’s like, having someone touch your daemon? What if you touched Vero?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, what if?”

“It’s taboo, that’s why,” Baze said. “It always has been. Don’t tell me Vero is with you on this.”

Chirrut groaned as Vero cocked his head to stare at Baze with one blue-rimmed eye. Baze figured that Vero looked about as skeptical as he felt. On the other hand, maybe it was fair that Chirrut could finally cause trouble for his daemon, rather than the other way around. 

There was really no one else like Chirrut, impetuous and meddlesome and impulsive and yet kind and even-keeled and clever. 

“I’m not saying you should, I just want to know why you shouldn’t.”

Baze stared at the diagrams in the book he’d been reading. Annoyingly, Chirrut had a point, and now that he was thinking about it, it was like a sore tooth: Baze wouldn’t be able to stop worrying at it. “Just because we don’t know why a rule exists, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason,” he said, as much to convince himself to stop thinking about it as Chirrut.

“I don’t think there’s any reason at all why we can’t touch each others’ daemons.” Chirrut was using the same tone of voice he always did when he was planning how to get in trouble and haul Baze along for the ride. “I bet people do it all the time, but they just never talk about it.”

Baze sighed and gave up on his book, letting it flop down to the grass next to Baila. “We’d hear about it, if something like that happened.”

“Are you sure?” 

He couldn’t help a smile. “Do you really think Nisi Donnall could keep something like that a secret?” 

Chirrut made a face, sticking his tongue out in disgust. “Okay, so Nisi and his daemon haven’t done it. Someone else might have.”

“Maybe I can do some research,” Baze said. “Ask one of the librarians.”

“Just...it doesn’t make any sense that it’s forbidden,” Chirrut said. “Daemons are physical manifestations of the Force, and we pray for the Force of others to be with us and each other. Why should your daemon not be with me or mine with you?”

“You have theology today,” Baze said. “Ask Elder Dangon.”

“Maybe I will,” Chirrut said. “Read to me.”

“It’s not a very exciting book. It’s about engineering.”

“I don’t care, read it to me,” Chirrut said.

Sometimes he loved Chirrut so much that it made him feel weak. He wondered if there was anything he wouldn’t do for Chirrut, and if Chirrut knew that. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that if Chirrut really asked him to, he’d touch Vero, or he’d let Chirrut touch Biala. That thought used to scare him, but Baze had made his peace with it. So Baze read out loud until their lunch break was over.

-

He knew something was wrong when Chirrut didn’t show for dinner. 

It wasn’t unheard of for Chirrut to be late for dinner, but to skip it entirely -- it made Baze uneasy, and he ate quickly and went back to their rooms, dread building slow and steady. He fumbled to unlock the door to their room, Biala close on heels.

And Chirrut was there, curled on his side in bed. It took Baze a moment to see Vero -- he was close against Chirrut’s chest, only his tail-feathers immediately visible.

He wanted to go to Chirrut, to touch his shoulder or pull him close. But that -- he couldn’t. He locked the door behind him and toed off his shoes and sat on his bed, across from Chirrut, and waited, Biala beside him on the floor.

“Nisi touched Vero,” Chirrut said.

It took Baze a long moment to process what Chirrut had said, and inside his surprise was a sort of rage that surprised him with its intensity. He wanted to track Nisi down and -- and hurt him, and… 

“I already beat him up,” Chirrut said. “He’s off licking his wounds somewhere.”

Baze forced his voice steady. “What happened?” 

“I started an argument in theology.” Chirrut’s voice was wrong -- flat and empty. “I guess that’s not surprising.”

“I guess not.”

“It got heated. Nisi called me a heretic, and I called him Force-blind.”

Baze winced. It was no secret that Chirrut was the most Force-touched of the students at the School, and he wasn’t shy about it, and others didn’t always take kindly to it -- especially boys like Nisi, used to their families buying them anything they wanted. Except, of course, the sorts of things that couldn’t be bought.

“So who ganged up on you?” Baze asked. “It couldn’t have been just Nisi. You’re too good at fighting to lose to just him.”

Chirrut laughed a little at that, easing the tightness in Baze’s chest. “Nisi and a few others. I don’t know. Pavan, maybe. Aulat. Whoever it was, they’re bleeding too. I think I hit them all at least once.”

Baze waited. He didn’t know what else to do.

Chirrut struggled to sit up. “He grabbed Vero’s tail. Said if the heretic wondered so much about having his daemon touched, that he should go ahead and find out and tell everyone instead of starting arguments.” His face was too pale, his voice still strangely absent, like Chirrut was miles away. “Baze, it was…” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Baze said, “if you don’t want to.”

Chirrut ignored him. “It was like fainting. Or dying. All this...hate and emptiness. Baze…” 

Oh, if there was one person in the galaxy who should have never been subjected to that, it was Chirrut, bright and shining Chirrut. “I’m sorry,” was the only thing Baze could think to say.

“I need you to -- Baze, would you…” Chirrut’s arms were crossed over his chest, his fingers digging into his arms, blanket draped over his lap. Vero was huddled miserably against his side, feathers flat against his body. “That can’t be what it’s supposed to be like. That’s not the Force.”

Baze bit back what he wanted to say: that it wasn’t for them to know what the Force was, that the Force was ineffable and vast and incomprehensible. But that wasn’t what Chirrut needed. “You want me to touch Vero,” he said.

Chirrut nodded, tendons in his pale neck jumping as he clenched his jaw.

“I don’t know--”

“I need you to, Baze. That can’t be it. That can’t be the Force of others, what I felt.” Chirrut’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “It has to be something better.” 

Baze looked at Vero, nearly lifeless against Chirrut’s side. “Okay,” he said.

He was about to push himself off the bed and sit next to Chirrut when Vero stirred, hopping a little bit away from Chirrut and then opening his wings. He landed with a little gust of cold air, just in front of where Baze was sitting.

“You’re sure,” Baze said. It was needless; he knew Chirrut was sure.

“Yes,” Chirrut said.

Gently, gently, Baze rested his thumb just above Vero’s beak. Vero didn’t respond at all, but Baze hardly noticed through the shock of touching another daemon. It wasn’t as if he felt any different, but sometimes every daemon but Biala seemed to be made of air. He stroked Vero’s bright yellow crest as gently as he dared, just once. Vero’s eyes shuttered closed as his wings settled close to his body. Baze thought he almost looked...content.

He looked to Chirrut, sitting on his bed, and his stomach dropped. Chirrut’s eyes were wide open, his mouth just barely hanging open. 

“Chirrut,” Baze said, alarm making his heart stutter in his chest, but Chirrut cut him off.

“Again,” Chirrut said. “Do it again, Baze.”

He looked to Biala, who was lying down but with her ears pressed back with unease. But the feathers at Vero’s neck were fluffed out in contentment, and all that tension was gone from Chirrut’s shoulders, and to say no to Chirrut was something that would hurt, and so Baze rubbed his knuckles down the back of Vero’s neck, touch light, marvelling at the soft slickness of Vero’s feathers.

Chirrut was rocking back and forth on his bed, slack-jawed. He let his touch still, just resting his hand against Vero, staring at Chirrut until Chirrut finally nodded jerkily. He yanked his hand back, and Chirrut stilled.

Baze bit at the inside of his mouth, willing himself to stay silent until Chirrut was ready to talk. It seemed like too long that Chirrut sat there in silence.

“Baze -- Baze,” he said finally, “that’s -- that’s what it’s supposed to be. That’s -- what’s what it is.” His hands were pressed together, against his chest, almost as if in prayer. “Baze, thank you.”

“Was it…” 

“I couldn’t explain,” Chirrut said. “I couldn’t... do you want to…?”

Baze looked to Biala, who flicked an ear and tilted her head as if to say, I’m willing, are you? Biala had always been a little braver than him, willing to nudge him just a little further than he wanted to go. Just like Chirrut.

“Yes,” Baze said.

“Okay. Okay,” Chirrut said. “Let me…” 

Baze watched, nervous, as Chirrut got out of bed and sat cross-legged on the floor. He was wearing only his sleep-shirt, and his thighs must have been cold against the stone floor, but all that eerie bliss was gone from his expression, replaced by focus. He held one hand out in front of him in the air.

The sharp click of Biala’s hooves on the floor as she stood. She looked to Baze before moving, and he nodded, and without hesitation, Biala walked towards Chirrut and butted her forehead against Chirrut’s palm.

Baze gasped at the same time Chirrut did. Dimly he could see Biala nodding up and down, encouraging Chirrut to pet at the bristly fur between her horns, but there was a feeling coursing through him too overwhelming to name, and he screwed his eyes closed, trying to breathe.

“Slow down,” he heard Vero say, just a little scolding.

He knew Chirrut had jerked his hand away by the way the feeling faded, leaving Baze back in his body again, aware of the cold and his nervousness and not much else. “It’s okay,” he managed to say. His voice was raw and he didn’t know why. “Just -- just slowly.”

That feeling again -- like suddenly he was aware of how small he was compared to all the galaxy but of how the galaxy knew him and the Force knew him and the Force cradled him anyways; like for the first time he was feeling air against his skin; like he could feel the electric margins of his soul where it pressed up against the rest of the universe.

Like he could feel Chirrut and Vero’s souls, like he was on fire, like he never wanted to stop burning.

He was barely aware of Vero landing on his shoulder and leaning against Baze’s cheek, perhaps in comfort, perhaps to remind Chirrut that Baze was all but spinning through space in mind if not in body.

Vero’s touch grounded him, though, and he managed to open his eyes. He found his fingers twisted into his bedsheets, his eyes hot and wet. There was Chirrut, still sitting on the ground, his hands cradling Biala’s face. He watched Chirrut touch her horns, her ears, her shoulders, her hooves. He was grinning so wide it must have hurt.

“I asked the librarians what an ibex looked like,” Chirrut said, his voice just louder than a whisper. “They -- they couldn’t do a very good job explaining. But I know now.” He kept one hand on Biala’s cheek even as he wiped tears off his face.

Vero nudged him again, and Baze pushed himself off the bed to stand. The feeling of vastness and wholeness and emptiness and fullness all at once still overwhelmed him, but he concentrated and put one foot in front of the other until he was next to Chirrut, next to Biala, and then he sat next to Chirrut, Vero still on his shoulder. Vero hopped and opened his wings and landed on Biala, staring at Baze until Baze winced and put his arm around Chirrut’s shoulders.

Chirrut froze for a moment, but Baze tugged at him, and he collapsed against Baze’s side, shaking. “We did it,” he said, his head rested against the side of Baze’s neck. “We did it, Baze.” 

“We did.” He stroked his thumb over Chirrut’s shoulder and closed his eyes and felt that huge feeling slip away from him; he heard Biala huff and turn and walk back to where she liked to lie beside Baze’s bed. He didn’t know why, but an impulse struck him. He said, “Your Force is with me now. And mine is with you.”

“Yes,” Chirrut said. “Yes, Baze, oh.” He was crying again, and Baze didn’t know why. 

“You must be cold,” Baze said. “You should -- you should get back in bed.”

He felt Chirrut nod against him, so he stood, and then Chirrut reached up with one hand and Baze took it to help him stand. Chirrut rose, unsteady. “Baze, it was…” 

And Baze couldn’t help himself. He reached to hold Chirrut’s face in his hands, swiping away tears with his thumbs. “It was,” he said, “not your worst idea.”

Chirrut looked startled and then laughed, and when his laughter faded, he rested one hand on Baze’s chest, suddenly looking serious, and it was the easiest thing in the galaxy to kiss Chirrut then, and it felt like having Chirrut touch Biala, it felt like Force guiding him, and Baze wondered if he’d ever been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Baze's Biala looks like [this](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/4e/Jeune_bouquetin_sur_un_rocher.jpg), and here's Chirrut's [Vero](http://jkflies.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Golden-Pheasant-3_Snapseed.jpg)


End file.
